Ghost Town Read Online Free PDF Page B

amounted to the same thing.
    He and Amber had “dated” for a couple of months last year. They had met in line at the BMV when they had gone to renew their driver’s licenses. He hadn’t been all that attracted to her—she had been too pale and skinny, and her hair needed washing—but he’d had nothing better to do, so he had turned on the charm and started chatting with her. He remembered what his daddy had always said: “You never know what you’re going to catch when you cast your line. But if you don’t put your hook in the water, you damn sure won’t catch anything.” She had been reluctant to respond to him at first, but he had taken that as a challengeand persisted. Once they had discovered that they had the same birthday, she had thawed a little, and by the time they were both done and leaving with their new licenses, she had agreed to have dinner with him.
    He had decided that she was pretty enough, in a sickly sort of way, but what he liked most about her was the sense of vulnerability she projected. In some men, that would have triggered a protective instinct. But for Mitch, it triggered an instinct of a far different kind. It told him that Amber was prey.
    â€œNever show weakness,” his daddy always said, and he had backed up his words with action. If Mitch had acted weak in even the slightest way, Daddy punished him, usually by delivering a good pounding with his fists. But sometimes Daddy’s punishments had been more . . . creative. Mitch didn’t mind, at least not anymore. Those punishments had made him the man he was today. Made him strong.
    What they’d had couldn’t be called a relationship. Mitch would show up at her place whenever he didn’t have anything better to do. He figured he had a good thing going, but then, one day, she said something to piss him off—he couldn’t remember what—and he had hit her. Not hard, just enough to let her know he meant it. He thought maybe she would cry or maybe even apologize. A lot of women said “I’m sorry” after you gave them a good smack.
    But Amber hadn’t said anything. The next night, Mitch had pounded on her door until his fist ached, but she hadn’t answered. He knew she was home—she only went out when she had to. So he had continued pounding on the door for a solid five minutes before finally giving up. He had called and texted her numerous times after that but still with no reply. He had decided to try showing up on her doorstep again, but this time, there had been an envelope with his name written on it taped to the door. The message inside was simple, clear, and direct: “Mitch, I don’t want tosee you anymore. Don’t come back. Don’t call me. If you try to contact me in any way again, I’ll call the police.”
    She hadn’t signed it. Mitch had taken that as a personal affront. He’d kicked in the door and rushed inside Amber’s apartment, but to his surprise, she wasn’t there. She didn’t have a lot of stuff, but he knocked over what little furniture she did have, broke her bathroom mirror, and threw a few framed pictures to the floor. It made him feel a little better, but not much.
    He had considered staying there and waiting for her to come home. Then he would show her what he thought about her goddamned unsigned letter. And he might have, too. But he remembered something else his daddy used to say: “A man’s got to control his temper if he doesn’t want his temper to control him.”
    He had told himself that Amber wasn’t worth getting upset about. Getting too worked up over anything was a sign of weakness, and Mitch was determined to stay strong. So he had swallowed his anger, left Amber’s apartment, and done his best to put her out of his mind.
    But then, a couple of weeks ago, he had gone to Target to pick up a new pair of work boots, and he saw Amber working in